mon 



wiimn 



Thoughts on 



DAT5 A5 they FA55 

The Ideal 

P00K5 
QEN1CJ5 
FA5510N 
TRiENDS 

To Walt Whithan (poem) 
To Omar (poem) 



BY 



U/alter palmer J^oxie 



FROM WITHIN 



BY 



WALTER PALMER HOXIE 






philadelphia 

George H Buchanan and Company 

1891 






Copyright, 1891 
iv Walter Palmer Hoxii 



TO 

HELEN 



CONTENTS 

I Days as they Pass 

II The Ideal 

III Books 

IV A Word About Genius 
V The Fetish of Passion 

VI Friends 

VII To Walt Whitman (Poem) 

VIII To Omar (Poem) 



Days as they Pass 



Day full-blown and splendid — 
The night follows close with sleep and restoring 
darkness.— Walt Whitman. 



And not a drop that from our Cups we throw 
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below 

To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye 
There hidden— far beneath and long ago. 

As then the Tulip for her morning sup 

Of Heavenly Vintage from the soil looks up, 

Do you devoutly do the like, till Heaven 

To Earth invert you like an empty Cup. 

— " Rubaiyat "—Omar Khayyam. 



I 
Days as They Pass 

If throueli ionorance we con- 
sider that our life Is hourly robbed 
by the treasures of time we love to 
hold, Zi'r are robbing both time and 
ourselves. 

With the gentle dawn there 
comes to every man many simple 
achievements and bright possibili- 
ties. If he is aware of their pres- 
ence (and they are presences) he 
grows hourly fuller of attractive 
impulse in that day. 

Your chamber may look upon 
a garden, a mountain, or perhaps 
a busy tow^n street. Throw open 
the shutters — the morning sun is 
awaiting you. INIagic lurks in each 
emblem of the risen day ; rise 



lO FRO-M WITHIN 

with It to the glory of your own 
strength. In the hours of that day 
yet unborn, much will be demanded 
of you — demands you cannot es- 
cape. Awake ! 

Arouse thy comprehension and 
fling to the four star jeweled winds 
of the morniuCT all thouorhts — all 
sense of limitation. You are strong 
in the power of unlimited desire, 
qualification and virile aspiration. 
Let the mind be nude. Here, then, 
begins your day ; shall we say with 
the sun ? No ; that is not a bemn- 
ning. The sun has for ages been 
seeking you out, as it has sought 
the mole, the gleaming lizard and 
the flowers. 

Below in the field is a garden ; 
you look down upon it^ but before 
you opened your casement the 
flowers were looking up at you. 



DAYS AS THEY PASS I I 

All nature has a divine claim 
upon us we cannot escape. It is 
the claim of charity, friendship, love 
and lust. 

The sun, the flowers and the 
mountain breeze bring to your lat- 
tice a requisition of love. They 
bring to you an emotional and sen- 
sual pain ; the thrill of all that is 
necessary and desirable. 

But think you these only are 
hymenial communicators ? 

The city street with its throng 
of early workers is to deliver the 
same message. Oft have I watched 
these signs set in the landscape for 
us, and marked their laneuaee. It 
is a common voice a joyous medium 
brineinor occult messages and 2,w- 
swers to anv listenino- heart await- 
ing within its own solitude replies 
from the inevitable. 



FROM WITHIN 



Your yearning- soon shall cease, 
and forever. Changed v/ill be that 
desired end your heart had set upon 
as indispensable. You will find the 
morning hints at recompense meet 
for all that day. 

As you look at the mountains, 
the garden or the street your heart 
dwells on " the little word!' 

And you say : " it is morning ! " 

Know vou not the mornino- and 
the day are in your hands ; to do 
with — to make perfect as you will ? 

Your heart speaks, for it alone 
is worthy to voice the will-o-the- 
whisps and vanished dreams — 
dreams dearer to memory. The 
enchantment, the kiss, trouble-dispel- 
ling dream, awakes from deception. 

Assume thy boldest course, 
oh, heart ! the world hath need of 
thee. 



DAYS AS THEV PASS 1 3 

You would tremble and smile 
and press your hands to your fore- 
head did you know all, breathing 
the breath of the flowers and the 
sunliehtas an elixir to drown every- 
thing your senses feel, save the 
morning draughts of sunlight. I 
see you turn hastily, leaving the 
window lattice swinging in the 
wind. 

You don a light robe carelessly, 
forgetful of your naked beauty. 

The smile does not leave your 
Hps as you hurry below to the 
garden (or the street) . 

'Midst the flowers, you bend 
your face to them and pluck them, 
but you realize neither their beauty 
or their perfume. 

You are aware only that it is 
morning! The garden fence is 
broken down, limitation has ceased, 



14 FROM WITHIN 

the mountains recede into the clouds, 
it is as if the great sea had gathered 
them. 

The garden has become the 
WORLD to you ; you stand speechless 
looking toward the eastern horizon. 

Only the pain of conscious 
waiting is with you coming from 
the Orient, 

You have entered Paradise 
and know it not, you stand within 
the Kingdom. 

Do not tremble, do not be 
ashamed though your plaited robe 
falls to your feet and you stand 
naked in the Kingdom of God. 

Yes, you heard a voice, the 
soft, siorhinor human voice. 

It is for you standing in the 
garden to call forth its divinity. 

I see your eyes glisten and 
weep, you stretch forth your hand, I 



DAYS AS THEV PASS I 5 

feel the kiss upon his white and 
beautiful brow. 

Passing down the crowded 
morning street it is the same. 

You gather flowers from the 
faces of all you meet, from the faces 
of the old and young ; from the faces 
of men and women, youths and 
maidens, till your hands are quite full. 

TJiese floiucrs are the jezuels of 
7dgJiteous thought, it is for yon to 
set in the croiuii of the luorld, in the 
hours of the days as they pass. 

You speak to many of the street 
as you go ; you give and they take, 
but he who kissed you in the garden 
will return all. 

That kiss is burning on your 
lips. It fires into life the words 
you utter. They become jewels 
aflame and die not. Now are 



FROM WITHIN 



the achievements of all that day 
possible to you. Suffer for suffer- 
ing is not vain. You have stepped 
higher than the street, hicdier than 
the tree tops. Now, all to whom 
you speak will be lifted up. 

The sun slants ablaze ; you 
feel that the. morning is passing. 

You notice that the zenith 
sends down no burning noon rays, 
such as you have known before, yet 
at the corner of a street where there 
is no shade you see a woman fall 
prostrate. 

In the twinkling of an eye you 
are by her side but she sees you 
not, for her eyes are closed with 
weariness and her heart is filled 
with pain. 

You wonder at the prostrate 
form and say as you look, " There 
is little heat ! " 



DAYS AS THEY PASS IJ 

'* She is struck, the heat has 
killed her ! " one of the throng 
makes answer, as men and women 
gather about. 

A cold, wondrous smile passes 
over your face and leaves it radiant. 
You put forth your hands as you 
did to him of the garden, and lo, 
the flowers you held have turned 
to limped drops of new and living 
water. You are still within the 
Kingdom, and the sufferer upon 
the pavement is sustained, nour- 
ished, comforted and drawn within 
the Kingdom too. She rises, know- 
ing nothing. But what you have 
given never can be taken from 
her. 

As she slowly withdraws around 
the corner and passes down a side 
street, you notice all the children 
of that throng, happier, laughing 



l8 FROM WITHIN 

merrily, tossing their hands in the 
air, go running after her. 

Your labor of the morning 
is done — the sun has passed, the 
Throne and the cool of the evening 
comes on. All you have read and 
pondered is as naught. 

Again you stand beneath the 
trees of golden shade. The ripe fruit 
hangs temptingly. You reach up for 
it, eat, endeavoring to slake your 
thirst. But at the first taste a fire 
fills your blood, your lips burn, your 
brow becomes cold, and you throw 
yourself deep in the grasses longing 
once more for that human kiss. 

You cry: "How long must I 
suffer? " 

While the butterflies, the birds 
and the breeze bring only mocking 
sounds to your ears. 



DAYS AS THEY PASS 



19 



The taste of the golden fruit, 
for the moment, is dulled and bitter 
as wormwood. 

You cry again in agony : " Oh ! 
that, the day would pass and the 
night come that I may rest in 
dreams." 

A voice out of the garden 
replies : 

"There is but one dream." 

You fearlully whisper (with 
eyes still closed): "What is that 
dream ? " 

And the voice answers : " It is 
Life, and the days that pass form 
the walled habitation of that dream." 

When you looked up from your 
couch of grass you thought to meet 
the gaze of him who had kissed 
you. 

But no, he who stands there 
has empty hands, and an humble 



20 FROM WITHIN 



face with eyes of sorrow, but beau- 
tiful with all, as sorrow is beautiful 
to the human heart. 

Pity steals into your bosom 
and glimmers in your eyes. 

You say: ''Sit beside me, 
here, on the grass." (Your robe 
has fallen from about you, but you 
are not ashamed). As he sits you 
see that his brow is bleeding as if 
from the wound of thorns. He does 
not speak, but looks into your pity- 
ing eyes, as he looks the dull pain 
leaves his own. 

You say ; '' The world has used 
you ill, you are comfortless." 

He draws nearer and about 
you as he replies : "I zuas comfort- 
ess. 

You do not speak and your 
eyes close. You have forgotten the 
other who kissed you, and he who 



DAYS AS THEY PASS 



now embraces you is as sexless. 
" I was comfortless," whispers the 
stranger, close. "The heavens 
seemed gray always and the earth 
of stone. Oft did I try to find a 
little softened earth and make a 
ofarden there, but even as I worked 
and planted seed, men rushed by 
ruthlessly, trampling the earth and 
crushinor the seed. 

■'Thouorh wedded to one most 
lovely I have no offspring in the 
world. Childless I pass my days, 
youth remains not and age is cold, 
barren and even more pitiless than 
men. I entered this garden fam- 
ishing, weary and feverish with 
thirst. Let me eat of the golden 
fruit and moisten my parched lips." 

As he parts an orange you 
gaze wonderingly, lovingly upon 
him, then taking a piece from his 



22 FROM WITHIN 

hand you eat while he eats — and lo, 
it is sweet. 

While you eat and the fever 
leaves the lips of the stranger (a 
stranger no longer)^ you see the 
otJier (he whose forehead you 
kissed) pass 'mid the tall flowers 
on the other side — he is smiling ; 
your kiss is still upon his brow — 
you are content. 

The stranger seeks in your 
eyes tranquil promises of Paradise 
and the Kinordom. You read his 
beautiful thoughts and they grow 
into your own — wedded blissfully. 
He does not ask you to go with 
him through the world — or into the 
street among the throng — but even 
there you will be together — for 
already he has taken unto himself 
your heart, your lips. 



DAYS AS THEY PASS 23 

The cool dewy night Is come — 
a day has passed. 

You stand at your casement 
as the moon slowly rises over the 
mountains, the gardens and the 
streets. 

Memory is with you. But 
memory holds the priceless pearls 
of achievement, desire and pleas- 
ure : — knowledge to do and to 
speak silently from day to day — the 
passing, yet abiding tJioiLgJits woven 
throughout the meshes of eternity. 
Nothing lost — all gained for the 
coming morrow ; nothing suffered 
— but lived for the peace to come. 

The moonlight brings to you 
a numberless throng from the 
mountains, from the gardens, from 
the street ; a throng of lovely 
beings. They press to you and 
shower you with caresses soft as 



24 FROM WITHIN 

rays. You look toward the stars 
and see them all. The ecstacy of 
all music comes up to your lattice, 
and your awakened voice joins the 
invisible chorus out of the past. 
It is as if a new world had come 
with the music out of the . old. 
The exquisite sensations of intrin- 
sic wholeness, smother like an 
ether in your spontaneous utter- 
ances. The light of the world 
burns out. Glorified, you turn 
from the moonlit window and seek 
your couch. The true lover is 
beside you, and you whisper into 
the ear of love : 

'' The day has passed." 
Love answers : "To-morrow." 



II 

The Ideal 



The Perfection of the Human Race born in the 
Image of its Maker is the Ideal of God. 

W. P. H. 



I sometimes think that never blows so red 

The Rose as where some buri-ed Ccesar bled; 

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears 

Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head. 

— " Rubaiyat"— Omar Khayyam. 



II 
The Ideal 

In days of practical politics, 
agnosticism and superficial skepti- 
cism regarding all literature, science 
and art, is it not well to occasionally 
step aside from the controversy of 
things as they appear, and dwell 
upon the truer, Idealistic tendencies 
of all times and all nations. 

Philosophy endeavors to teach 
that each individual of the human 
race Is occupied by a certain striv- 
ing to attain. 

No matter how limited one's 
knowledge of philosophy, or how 
meagre his recognized abilities and 
chances of success, every man is 
conscious of an invisible beauty it is 
his mission to bring to light. 



28 FROM WITHIN 

What is the Ideal? 

It is the unseen, yet visible ; 
the "not yet" though attainable; 
the encompassing, ontnipresent, 
tangible good toward which the 
eye of the heart and intellect for- 
ever turns in all vicissitudes and 
experiences, for the heart and the 
intellect are ever conscious of it. 

There are solid lines of Ideality 
impregnating our every act. 

The miracle of daily living is 
the ideal perfection of all the mind 
regards as occult and mysterious. 

The unrecognized Unseen is 
forever the idea of the visible, yet 
behind the spiritual impulse of 
beauty there exists a semi-perceiv- 
able, impersonal Ideality. 

Facts are Ideal. 

In all generous endeavor, in 
the self-sacrificing act of benefi- 



THE IDEAL 



29 



cence, in study and research, in 
worthy statemanship, in poetical 
effusion and melody of all harmo- 
nious sound and color — the Ideal is 
the only ti^ue representative, and as 
such becomes our sure euide, as- 
sumes dictatorship, and alone can 
lead us to the inevitable fruition of 
success. 

Natiu^e is but a picture of mail s 
conception of Ideality. 

The soft flow of a violet-lipped 
stream, 'thouofh it eushes from the 
earth under our feet is a materiali- 
zation of something in us which our 
consciousness brings to life, and 
which we of ourselves would gladly 
give to beautify the earth, but, in 
our incompleteness, not knowing 
how, we picture the ideal flower- 
locked stream, and find in our intui- 
tively awakened imagination all its 
represented beauty. 



30 FROM WITHIN 

In this sense man is a creator 
of the universe about him. 

The soul Is a colorist of senti- 
ments and aspirations, — that which 
we call ''the beautiful," "the per- 
fect," "the harmonious," is the 
reflection of the soul's perception. 
Our lives are lived in an imper- 
sonal world of Idealty, — whether 
the eyes be alive "to see "matters 
not. The change called Death is 
man's highest realization of life's 
Ideal. 

Yet why are we mystified ? 

The glories of an artist's con- 
ception are always intangible to the 
world, but never to him who saw 
and realized their wonder in the 
land of dreams. 

Why need we blindly wait till 
the inspired thought of ourselves 
or of others becomes manifest to 
the physical senses? 



THE IDEAL 



Is it not enough to intuitively 
feel with accurate vision that the 
Real and Ideal exist like an inspired 
fancy not yet breathed forth through 
the spoken word into corporeal 
image ? 

Great lives are often lost to us 
by our non-recognition of the prin- 
ciples of Idealty — distorted or hid- 
den by a w^orld's conventionality, 
false standpoints and destroying 
prejudices. 

TJic Perfection of the Human 
Race boj'u in the Image of its Alake?^ 
is the Ideal of God. It expresses 
the omnipotence, virility, wisdom, 
patience, and omnipresent love of 
the Creator by that shining through 
which is the light of the eye — the 
music of the voice — the aspiration 
of the individual soul. Yet the 
prison-shell in w^hich we live — tor- 



32 FROM WITHIN 

mented by the Inevitable fears and 
follies of necessary growth — hides 
rather than reveals this divine Ideal 
of man. 

This higher world, the atmos- 
phere and effluvia of which is Truth 
— must be made known to us 
through the awakened intuition, for 
the intuitive faculty is the only 
faculty that is truly receptive. 

Does not the painted canvas 
misinterpret rather than disclose 
the artist's idea? If not. wdience 
his disappointment? From what 
emotion wells those tears which 
seemingly dilute his colors till he 
sees but a faint blush, an ephemeral 
shadow cast by his soul's grand 
conception, in place of the dream's 
reality ? 

Man in his trite desire clings 
to the ideal substance — not to van- 



THE IDEAL 33 

ishing form. In vulgar practice, 
however, he Ignores the ideal he 
is unconsciously seeking, and 
retards the fulfilment of promising 
ambition or awakened aspiration. 
Particularly is this true in the 
political and religious life of the 
individual or nation. 

To one who lives in the ideal 
perception of righteousness there 
can be no possible controversy 
regarding the creeds, faith and 
religious prejudices of either indi- 
viduals or nations. 

Why is the remembered per- 
fume of a flower (associated with 
reminiscences forever inseparable 
from it) more delightful and subtle 
than the scent breathed into our 
nostrils by the touchable, colorful, 
perishable calyx and petals ? 



34 FROM WITHIX 

Yet, so it is. 

The chemical process of disinte- 
gration leaves something after it the 
world has not the power to lose. It 
is the realization of our Ideals. 

The thoughts — the deeds of 
great men give to the world the 
ideal of those lives in new virility 
when the act and triumph have 
become forgotten history. 

All the achievements of hero- 
ism and art have but one recom-. 
pense, one fruition, one possible 
influence — the leading and persuad- 
ing of humanity beyond the world's 
confines ofxlay and sunshine nearer 
to the world^'s Ideal manifestation 
of all that is desirable for the human 
race. 

Our never-to-be-forgotten dead 
are still the ideals of the lives we 
knew, for the misrepresentation 



THE IDEAL 35 

which claimed our attention and 
devotion for a while has passed as 
naught, and we remember, confer 
and mingle with the intrinsic being 
we once called friend. 

Much that in io-no ranee we 

«z> 

might look upon as lost is brought 
nearer to us by that inevitable 
change of growth, which gives our 
being unfettered carriage into the 
realms of our ideality. 

Let us pass through violet- 
scented woods on a summer morn- 
ing and be glad. Our feet press a 
carpet of dew-bejewelled grass and 
moss. Trees spring up about us 
wearing the majesty of years beside 
which the glory of a crown seems 
impotent. The inverted bowl of 
heaven becomes a paradise lor 
eagles and the unseen powers of 
the air. Suddenly we become one 



36 FROM WITHIN 

with that hfe of nature^ breathing, 
palpitating, hving nature in the 
effluvia of which we find our being. 
The stream, the morning's redolent 
atmosphere, the specks of hfe still 
reaching skyward against the zenith 
of our vision, the united sonor of a 

o 

thousand swelling throats lay claim 
to us, speak if we but listen and in 
an eternal voice coherently describe 
the comincr chano^e — the desired 
and desirable Inevitable. 

The frozen air, the withered 
petals, the grave of violets under 
seared oak leaves and fern, the 
sky black with storm clouds, the 
groaning boughs stretching requiem 
limbs into a forest of death, holding 
in their hands chilled habitations 
whence the life hath fled, all tell us 
that the appearance is altered, the 
unseen slumbers that the seen may 



THE IDEAL 37 

again live in the golden refulgence 
of another summer. 

But during the interim the 
Ideal of Nature's summer lives, 
and we may feel her breath if we 
close our eyes and let memory 
soothe us with the caresses of other 
days. 

In the fundamental laws of art 
we find the same principles of 
Ideality, for Art brings into actual 
breathing life the unknown realities 
within and about us. 

Music is but the voice of our 
ideals brouoht from the silence 
into sound. 

Friendship but the life of 
gratitude speaking through the 
ideal of one made known to us. 

Love but the infinite breath 
which holds us as the ether its 
worlds, in a realm where the laws 



38 FROM WITHIN 

are not of our own makine, but 
tangible ideal harmony, wherein 
the soul forgets its manifested clay. 

Passion but the willine sense 
of ideal desire, in the morning 
when the rose-tree yearns to flower, 
and the vine uplifts its head to 
crown the life with fruit. 

In all, over all and through all 
is that perfection the Human Soul 
holds as its dream of Immortality — 
the Ideal sought and won through 
the development of art, friendship, 
love and passion till keen desire 
finds its life in aspiration and grate- 
ful oblivion becomes but a memory 
of transitory struororles overcome. 



Ill 

Books 

Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good ; 
Round these, with tendrils strong as tlesh and blood, 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 

WORDSWORTH. 



Ill 

Books 

Gather toofether the best 
thoughts of the best intellects and 
you have an open highway leading 
to the tont of true wisdom. 

And true wisdom is that which 
teaches us something of ourselves. 

\\ hen you read comprehen- 
sive] v vou are listenina- to vour own 
voice. 

A book is a unique represent- 
ative of the world — of ourselves ; 
there can come to us from it. from 
the lines and pages constructed in 
thought-sequence, only that which 
we have first eiven to it. 

It is a promise held out to us. 
the fultillinor of which is our under- 



42 FROM WITHIN 

Standing. A volume containing the 
thoughts of another man is to me 
hke a mountain path. Long have I 
viewed the mountain from afar — a 
thing of majesty against the beauty 
of blue ether, it stands haloed 
by moonlight and crowned with 
living clouds. The path, I know, 
leads upward, made musical by flow- 
ing brooks and midsummer's mad- 
ness of sono- and verdure. 

I now enter into the pathway 
and find my dreams and specula- 
tions reeardine it realities, leading 
me to heights unsealed before, where 
vista upon vista of magnitude and 
the details of space-perfection are 
stretched before me. From the 
first boulder or promontory which 
lifts me up and allows me further 
sight, I gain the reality of all my 
preconceived ideas and a partial 



BOOKS 43 

realization of what the mountain 
top has in store for me. 

Once having gained the high- 
est peak, where eagles live in eyries 
of the air, I am conscious of ante- 
rior experience pregnating the 
present event and robbing it of all 
novelty, for my soul has always and 
will forever look out upon the 
universe from the highest summits 
to which, eagle-like, it can attain. 

A book leads me alonor the 
literal pathway of realities wherein 
my soul has wandered oft, and 
joyfully. 

I peruse its cover and feel its 
beauty as the mountain path first 
leaves the level of the plain and 
gradually inclines upward to the 
disclosing volume within. 

Much knowledge may be gained 
from an appreciation of the book- 



44 FROM WITHIN 

binders' art and what it produces 
as well as from the author's inspi- 
ration. 

The cover of delicate tint, 
artistic design and unique work- 
manship has its influence, and often 
persuades us that the price asked is 
not too much — perhaps^, indeed, too 
little — even before the subject or its 
treatment is made known to us. 

So much for the^'personality of 
a book : its exterior beauty. 

The pasteboard, ink and paper 
express thought, consequently a 
soul. A \\'(A\-7iiade library is a 
boquet no less fragrant than garden 
or field flowers. 

Commence your reading of a 
book by conscientiously perusing 
its cover. 

The author has put your seal 
upon it for you to recognize, and 



BOOKS 45 

the house of paper reveahng his 
identity has much to do with the 
active tenants capabiHty ''to teacJiy 

In reading always assume an 
impersonal attitude. For the mo- 
ment all authors must appeal to you 
alike. 

You may learn some scientific 
truth from a liorht tale of fiction 
told, or nothing by perusing tomes 
of Plato or Emmerson. 

The ore is there, it is only nec- 
essary that you possess the requi- 
site ability to create the smelting 
fire of appropriation. 

It is not what we read, but Jiozu 
we read everything that is import- 
ant. For *"' to read" in the truest 
sense is to discover within one's 
intellectual consciousness the subtle 
truth an author has already found 
for us. 



46 FROM WITHIN 

Each book has its personahty ; 
the indivIduaUty of all learning is 
one. 

Therefore, in gathering infor- 
mation from the developments of 
other men we should read the 
betrayal of their thoughts in that 
sympathetic spirit of oneness which 
immediately renders a critical atti- 
tude impossible, and engenders 
our receptivity to the truth to be 
inculcated. 

A critic is his own w^orst enemy, 
for an author at the outset worthy 
of criticism is infinitely superior to 
any criticism which may be 
adjudged. 

Let the critic first learn that 
indelible principle of superiority. • 

That which is false can never 
be inculcated, but when recognized 
as false, inevitably leads to a state 



BOOKS 47 

of adolescence where truth only 
is recognizable 

A so-called ''bad'' book is of 
its nature dead — except as we give 
to it a virility of influence. It is 
vicious only to one who is blind to 
its author's orieinal virtue. 

It can be truly said that an 
author has already ''spoken" before 
his work is begun, before the printer 
is seen or the pages printed. 

The material, book, the words 
and pictures, binding and title, is 
for the recognition of the eyes 
alone. The voice behind these 
symbols has spoken long before 
they were created, and awai«t to be 
grasped and handled by our 
perception alone. 

This seems no longer strange 
when one has learned to read with 
the inner eye. And not till this 



48 FROM wiTi UN- 

principle is understood do we read 
with intelligence. 

Then fiction is realized to be a 
demonstration of science — as is all 
Art. 

Then do we read Shakespeare 
in Plato's philosophy and Brown- 
inor's creed in Emmerson's rational 
statements reo^ardino^ life and its 
purposes. 

A just reflection on this point 
tends to the development of incis- 
ive judgment. 

The 7nis-rQ3.d[nQ- of a orood 
book is infinitely more injurious 
than the true reading of a so-called 
bad one. 

Books and men become worthy 
and useful to us in direct propor- 
tion to our ability to introspectively 
create in them for ourselves and 
indirectly for all mankind. 



BOOKS 49 

The average heart and intel- 
lect scanning that psychological 
study, The Ki^eiUzer Sonata, finds 
therein naught but '*a tale of lust, 
jealousy and murder." (Such judg- 
ment is the prostituting of critical 
perception). But to one who has 
read the same human story of moral 
cause and effect in the hearts of 
his fellowmen as Beethoven read 
it before the pages of the book 
were written, there comes a realiza- 
tion of the author's grand normal 
purpose of purity : his infinite 
perception of that highest chastity 
possible to the human society of a 
divine race. 

Let the soitl of a man speak 
and the world can ill afford to lose 
the tenor of his thought. 

If when a man speaks to me I 
get but the letter and symbol of his 



50 FROM WITHIN 

suggestive word, I get but little. 
When I know that he has truly 
spoken for my best welfare 'though 
his lips remain sealed, then may I 
grasp what his will conveys and 
receive nourishment. 

Then do I make the exodus out 
from the Egypt of my own ignor- 
ance to the promised land of his 
superior insight. 

It is the heart of all mankind 
which speaks to the w^orld through 
the individual author, that same 
heart drinks in the knowledge of 
itself to be gained. 

The soul thirsts, and to other 
souls like unto our own do we look 
for expiation from our paucity of 
knowledge. 

We speak of "reading" char- 
acter — man can read no character 
save his own. The book we read 



BOOKS 51 

becomes our own production, and 
we are alone guilty for its errors 
and responsible for its influence. 

Books and men are not unlike. 
We attempt to read the one and 
fail ; criticising the other according 
to our precarious standards we 
pass unrighteous judgment upon 
ourselves and cannot escape pun- 
ishment — the legitimate result of 
non-acceptance of the law that our 
neighbors' sin is natively our own. 

Every book is a man ; every 
man is a book. 

We cast our reflection into each 
and are responsible for it. 

How then shall we read ? 

First. — Avoid criticism ; abstain 
from it altogether at the start. 

If you are thirsting you will 
find \ well spring that meets your 
need iii every book. 



52 FROM WITHIN 

Second. — Be generous ! Give to 
the author all you can of sincerity 
of purpose ; the author has a 
purpose, try to find it. 

Third. — Let not an appeai^- 
ance of unworthiness or inferiority 
obscure some principle of truth 
that mio-ht become an abiding 
element of help to you. 

Our moods are responsible for 
much. Let us train them to an 
acceptance of all that is just. 

Habit becomes a creator of 
ideas and it is only right that we 
habitually become thankful for the 
ideas of others. An author is human, 
could we know his sorrows our heart 
would weep for him. His way has 
been one of blindness till a ray of 
lieht has shone through him for us. 

Unto him that hath much, much 
is eiven, but from him who hath 



BOOKS 53 

little the world taketh that little 
away. 

Books should become sweet- 
breathed friends to us, and authors 
angels — it is our fault if they do 
not. 

Endeaver to read in a new 
spirit and a new spirit will come to 
you. The spirit which lighteth the 
eyes ''to see" and chaineth the 
chilling doubt ; which fructifies the 
blade of grass for us as for the poet, 
making poets of us all ; which 
leaneth upon us lovingly, denoting 
in us a true nobility, so that he who 
runs may read our blissful appre- 
ciation of God's meanine through 
the thoughts of men in the one great 
volume of the world. 

All greatness will be ours — if 
but to attain ; the lips now silent 
through fear of a world's condemna- 



54 FROM WITHIN 

tion, will be brought to breathe 

spontaneous utterances by the 

sympathy of our own hearts, 

enhungered for the word not yet 
spoken through the voices of our 
inspired fellow-men. 



IV 

A Word About Genius 

Ah ! frappe-toi le coeur, c'est la qu'est le genie. 

De Musset. 



Le genie est le dieu des ages. 

Lebrun. 



IV 

A Word About Genius 

From time immemorial, great 
thinkers have voiced their Individual 
opinions regarding- this ''gift of the 
gods." 

Regardless of each form of 
expression all great minds have 
agreed that genius is the iniuitive 
understanding of truth. 

In the world of greatness — 
every man Is a genius — comparison 
being the only touchstone regard- 
ing quality, and becoming, so far as 
the individual is concerned, the 
only process whereby torrefaction 
can be brought about. But this 
idea of comparison must be used 
relatively only. 



58 FROM WITHIN 

If genius is an understanding 
of trudi, then ev^en the term itself 
becomes something other than finite 
to us, for a finite term or series of 
finite terms can never wholly 
express a spiritual idea. 

Truth is infinite, therefore, not 
material (finite), but spiritual. Any 
idea that expresses truth must 
logically then be spiritual as well. 
Whether we treat the term genius 
synthetically or analytically it mat- 
ters not, for each process of reason- 
ing arrives at the same conclusion. 

To the appreciative student of 
metaphysics there should be no 
easier term in the whole category 
to be defined. Our stumblincr 
block is in the fact that we seek 
a material interpretation of an idea 
wholly spiritual, founded upon and 
being the expression of truth 



A WORD ABOUT GENIUS 59 

through infinite law. We have 
looked for an understandincr and 
full comprehension of this much 
abused term by seeking a definition 
from those whom we recognize as 
possessing this quality — genius. 
They, necessarily, of all others, are 
the least able to give in finite lan- 
guage a satisfactory definition or 
synonym, for when we define 
genius we define the recognized 
interpretation of all that is absolute. 

A genius is he who, intuitively 
realizes his oneness with truth, and 
unconsciously applies that realiza- 
tion to the art in which his soul 
expresses itself, living in his per- 
ceptions and discernments nearest 
to nature — he lives nearest to 
nature's source — God. 



6o FROM WITHIN 

We commonly and vulgarly 
use the idea as applying solely to 
the fine arts and the interpretation 
of them, when in reality genius is 
simply an understanding, according 
to established law (recognizable in 
all expressions of nature as well as 
in the activity of man's higher 
development) of truth. Mathe- 
matical truth, if you like, and as 
art, universal art, is but the fulfill- 
ing of law — genius in music, the art 
of color, sculpture and the infinite 
varieties of expression is but a 
nearer insight, an intuitive — there- 
fore, inspirational comprehension 
of the principles underlying all 
artistic phenomena. 

Beethoven was a genius ; not 
because of the productive faculty of 
his intellect, but because he under- 
stood and partially comprehended 



A WORD ABOUT GENIUS 



the spiritual law of truth as applied 
to music. 

The products of a genius are, 
at their birth, absolute. 

Plato, Demosthenes, Socrates 
and Napoleon were men of genius 
because they first spritually, then 
intellectually perceived the spiritual 
law underlying all science and 
metaphysics. 

In our own time the genius of 
men like Emerson and Tolstoi is 
always tenable, because their phi- 
losophy is but the spontaneous out- 
come of inspirative thought. 

In the life of all prodigy, the 
same natural, esoteric conditions 
may be traced if we knowingly 
apply the principles of truth-devel- 
opment to the activity of the indi- 
vidual mind. 

The child Hoffman is a eenius ! 



62 FROM WITH IX 

Biit do I not hear someone 
object that the boy is still too 
young to intellectually understand 
the universal truth of art he 
demonstrates ? 

Yes, intellectitally he is ; intid- 
tively he is not. 

In the divided meaning of these 
two words lie the thought and pur- 
pose of the subject investigated. 

Intellectually w^e knoiu a thing 
discrepantly. Intuitively we feel a 
thing accurately. 

The intuitive faculty (the trait 
of consciously receiving inspiration) 
the breathing of creative law, the 
law of all art throuorh us, is no 
more dependent upon the intellect 
for sustenance or expression than 
the intellect is dependent on the 
physical body. 



A WORD ABOUT GENIUS 63 

The term genius has no sig- 
nificance pertaining to the material 
or transitory. The intellect, scien- 
tifically speaking, is material per- 
ception, but the faculty which per- 
ceives truth is behind the intellect, 
and recognizes its inspiration as 
sufficient because of being in itself 
of the same quality as truth. 

The scientific world recognizes 
all manifested creation as the effect 
of a hidden cause. 

He is a genius who by awak- 
ened intuition (not intellectually) 
realizes that cause to be the life 
substance of his creative forces, and 
demonstrates that realization in the 
art which externalizes the obscure 
thought. 

From this standpoint our gaze 
is forever able to separate the false 
from the true. 



64 FROM WITHIN 

Within, controversy ceases — 
the without becomes a picture, a 
sone or a word beautiful to all man- 
kind. 

Were genius an intellectual 
understanding then could I receive 
it from one possessing it — once 
having it I could impart it to him 
seeking it, as the science of numbers 
may be grasped by him who will 
study the laws of mathematics. 

The voice is within and will 
live of itself in whatever art the soul 
expresses its existence. 

Could the rose be possessed of 
consciousness but for a moment it 
would find itself a genius, and pro- 
claim to the stars of farthest space 
its life in the law of truth and har- 
mony. 

He is no o^enius who looks 
toward intellectual development for 



A WORD ABOUT GENIUS 65 

the expression of beauty within him- 
self. 

The five senses can never teach 
a lesson the human soul must learn 
from itself. 

A lady stood beside an artist 
engaged in painting a dead-gray 
wall. 

Upon his palette were all the 
primary colors — separated ; on his 
canvas these colors were blended. 

Looking over his shoulder the 
lady exclaimed: "My friend, you 
are not painting that wall true to 
nature — it is black and white : gray, 
not red, yellow and green." 

'' Madam," said the artist, look- 
ing up with a smile, ''is it possible 
you cannot see all the colors of the 
rainbow in that dead-gray wall ? " 

"To be sure I cannot," she 
replied. 



66 FROM WITHIN 

" Were yoitr eyes open you 
could,'' he answered, and continued 
his work. He had spoken from a 
standpoint of crenius. 

The artist saw with the spir- 
itual eye that which the physical 
sense denied. 

Genius has its characteristics 
and is marked by an underflow of 
practicability. Being allied to the 
nature of truth, its attributes at once 
develop keen perception, discern- 
ment of true principles in minute 
things, and an almost supernatural 
keenness reeardinor the fixed laws 
of classic interpretation. 

To most of us, however, the 
gentler side of ability appeals — 
the genius element which expresses 
itself in the tender touch, the kindly 
eye and assuring voice. For the 



A WORD ABOUT GENIUS 6/ 

truly great are not less so in the 
ofenlal advancement of all that is 
lovable and harmonious. 

The true artist can ^ive us 
infinitely more, worthy to keep, by 
the silent harmonious tJioiLgJit he 
holds, inspired by the Supreme 
Voice, than by the uttered word, 
written page, or painted canvas. 
We are all keenly susceptible to 
tJwiLo-Jit and the genius is forever 
teachino- us in the silence of intan- 
gible dreamland the rare and royal 
beauties of the world unseen. 



The Fetish of Passion 



Then of the Thee in Me who works behind 
The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find 
A Lamp amid the Darkness ; and I heard 
As from Without — The Me within Thee blind ! 

"Rubaiyat"— Omar Khayyam. 



The Fetish of Passion 

The law of life and of all 
growth is the principle of sequence. 
The infant reincarnate in the child ; 
the child and youth absorbed into 
the man demonstrate this truth. 
Wherever life is found, we find as 
well, pregnant in life, the germ 
awaiting fuller development. Activ- 
ity marks the growth from seed 
life through the entire process to 
fruit production. This activity 
strengthens with growth, as the 
work progresses, and becomes an 
atniosphei^e surrounding that which 
is. This atmosphere is, of itself, 
necessary, acceptable, though never 



72 FROM WITHIN 

actual, but ever recedincr and non- 
communicative. 

Every man finds his existence 
surrounded by certain elements, 
seemingly superior to himself, to his 
aspirations, to his conceptions even 
of self; an atmospliere of elements 
unfamiliar, yet indestructible. If 
his nature be clean he is at first 
little annoyed by the contradiction 
of these elements, but seeks to 
harmonize the whole in a sort of 
spontaneous bringing together of 
all that he finds indispensable. His 
emotions, desires, dreams and 
speculations may fail to convince 
him of his just merits and inevitable 
deserts, but this spiritual ether sur- 
rounding his every act is fraught 
with stronofest conviction. 

This spiritual atmosphere, this 
receding, yet ever influential ele- 



THE FETISH OF PASSION 73 

ment of somethinor most vaorue and 
hidden, has its representative in the 
mental and physical organization. 

The name of this representa- 
tive is PASSION. It stands in the 
outer world of effects, as marriage 
stands the representative of wed- 
lock. 

It is the outer touch to man's 
consciousness that brings an accept- 
ance of his spiritual and physical 
needs. • 

It plays upon the nerves and 
telegraphs his assured necessities. 

It is a power in league with 
nature, in fact is an attribute of 
nature, becoming a channel through 
which the riches of nature flow. 
Bountiful is that store of favor 
found to be w^hen the door is 
unlocked and the massive stone 
rolled from the sepulchre. 



74 FROM WITHIN 

It is necessary that we learn 
the true influence of all thincrs. 
Carnal passion is as essential to me 
on its representative plane, as divine 
or human love, for there is a divin- 
ity in one no less than in the other. 

It is according to the degree of 
my understanding that I gather 
good or evil fruit from qualities 
natural to my being. 

All that is natitral to me is 
positive. Negation alone comes 
through my lack of rightful accept- 
ance. 

Single out a man of passive 
temperament and unequal force, 
and you have an individual spirit- 
ually asleep — apart from his fellow- 
men, devoid of those higher qualifi- 
cations of usefulness and pleasure. 

An adequate cause throbs in 
every heart-beat and mental impulse. 



THE FETISH OF PASSION 75 

We see men under the sway of 
some emotional inducement and 
forget the source of those emotions 
deep in the well-spring of the 
heart. 

Passion has been spoken of as 
a consuming flame ; this statement 
appeals to me as false. It is rather 
a creative fire — a crucible, which, by 
a process of combustion, frees the 
pure spirit from its own incarcera- 
tion. Passion is a symbol. We 
cannot escape this fact for it is a 
symbol of purity. 

True love, on either the animal 
or spiritual plane, has its repre- 
sentative in passion. 

The virgin, conscious of a 
spiritual gestation must needs feel 
the thrill of blood and warmth in 
the touch and caress of one or- 
dained. 



76 . fro:m with IX 

Man must express externally 
the inward product of his being — 
of that creative principle — to love. 

The man who loves not — lives 
not. He who loves not and holds 
not unto himself his passion^ dwells 
in the blackest night of Egyptian 
darkness as regards the active pur- 
pose within his own soul. 

I have made and hold ever 
before me a graven Fetish of Desire, 
as a heathen makes and vests his 
idol with supernatural powers, for 
the representative ministers to me 
according to my state of under- 
standing — Hmitation alone being 
superstition and heatheni-sm. 

I would hold no hideous thing 
up to your vision — nor do I desire 
to advance a thoueht inconsistent 
with the healthful law of virtue and 
beauty. On the contrary I would 



THE FETISH OF PASSION -J-J 

make demands upon you to per- 
ceive all beauty as the one desirable 
passion to be enjoyed by all. 

Sex is an expression of selfish- 
ness. Passion, when righdy under- 
stood, is found to be as sexless as 
Ideality. Happiness is the destiny 
of all our hopes — let us lay hold 
upon those pleasures of the way- 
side which most truly respond to 
our veaniincrs. 

The soul's regeneration must 
come throuo-h the outo^rowino- of 
one phase of pleasure, till, looking 
upward for the next, we find a lad- 
der under our feet, reaching Into 
the sky, free from and above all dis- 
appointment and sorrow. 

The physical sense is made 
keenly alive by the influence of 
beauty of its own kind : propor- 
tion. It Is rio-ht that the touch of a 



78 FROM WITHIN 

soft hand, the love-ht glance of 
eyes, should act as agents to warm 
my blood and vivify desire. He 
who would escape is a coward. 

I need have no fear of my pas- 
sion, it is for my use, enlargement, 
and will orrow delectable. 'Tis for 
me to render it holy and sanctified 
by my touch. The flesh and blood 
of my representative being have 
their right to know the pleasures of 
legitimate sensualitv, as divine a 
right as has my mind to grasp the 
intellectual sweets of knowledge. 

Let all my faculties be free and 
untrammeled by no misunderstand- 
ing of their predestined worth, and 
there will be little need to admon- 
ish me as to a course lacking desira- 
ble virtue. 

My love will seek to the utter- 
most — itself and its objective life in 



THE FETISH OF PASSION 79 

direct contradiction to all established 
precedence, precept or ism. 

It is the spirit which, left to its 
own capacity, will harmonize and 
restore each attribute of my beings 
even to the final sense of pleasure. 
Man should be satisfied with, and 
depend upon the testimony of his 
better self 

He will never doubt, who has 
once been lost in that embrace 
where lip meets lip, and unseen 
forces, more mighty than the 
morality of saints, holds in the thrall- 
dom of a sacred charm, where fear, 
shame, turmoil, pain and sorrow are 
supplanted by a thousand deified 
emotions the soul has never known 
before, when the very essence of 
one's spiritual being seems to rise 
up and make itself known, for the 
soul has had its way even to the 



8o FROM WITHIN 

last thrill of crratification and the 
Eternal Law of Being has been 
accepted and acted upon as the one 
undying voice 'twixt God and Man. 
Such Is the ricrhteous result of 
passion. Infinitely unlike the bond 
of marriaore the world has sane- 
tioned as the threshold of wedded 
life. Only when soul grasps soul 
as Its right and native own, when 
flesh responds and seeks its own 
fiesh — though a whole universe of 
man-made creeds and limitations 
should cry " Nay" — is there a true 
wedding upon earth. 

Before such passion enlight- 
ened man should bow, bending the 
knee In deepest reverence, gazing 
upon the splendent flower, bloom- 
ing into life, as the crowning glory 
of that love God has planted in the 
human breast. 



THE FETISH OF PASSION' 8 1 

Then the unhallowed result, 
all men In sympathy with nature 
dread, will be destroyed by the ful- 
fillinor of leofitimate desire ; the 
heart will seek only that which is 
for itself, good and complete. 
Choice becomes normal and posi- 
tive, result : spiritual gratification 
on a plane infinitely above physical 
realism, which now absorbs the 
vitality of social experience. 

Let the light shine from within, 
radiating fully to the external limits 
of sense, and night will be made 
bright for all humanity, in the rays 
of Passion — driving us onward 
from the imperfect now into the 
glorious day of future ecstasy. 



VI 
FRIENDS 



" Love me — abide with me— be my friend ! " 
Thou learnest no secret until thou knowest 
friendship, since to the unsound no heavenly 
knowledge enters. 

Hafiz. 

We inspire friendship in men when we have 
contracted friendship with the gods. 

Thoreau. 

" A book of verses underneath the bough, 
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread— and thou 
Beside me singing in the wilderness — 
Oh, wilderness were paradise enow ! " 



VI 

Friends 

Some things in life are touched 
by a divine sacredness ! 

Oh ! disciple of the heart's 
affection, how great has been your 
yearning before entering into the 
way of these things. 

You have wept. Disappoint- 
ment and an agony of shame were 
with you alway. Life held all — the 
macrical trift to transform desire, to 
reconcile all, yet the perfume, the 
gem and song were without pun- 
gency, glisten or soul. Void were 
the charms prospection offered, for 
you labored where reward came not. 
And what is the reward we claim ? 
Let it be, just God, to every heart 



86 FRO.M WITHIN 

the recompense of tliat heart's 
yearnings ! 

The beauty of fellowship put 
you to confusion when you contem- 
plated the nakedness of man. 
Your desire to love and to be 
loved caused a dubious relation 
'twixt your soul and the world, yet 
were you conscious of an earnest 
purpose, friendly, sincere, stronger 
than the ever-present fear of the 
ridicule and condemnation of your 
fellow-men. 

Your heart sought a newer 
path, untrod — of license, free-will 
and lawlessness, where the will gives 
birth to its own fancies and the 
heart lays hold upon its own, being 
satisfied. 

Men echoed the same desires 
— but their utterances were contra- 
dictory, their acts insincere. 



FRIENDS 87 

While meetino- this hmitation 
in your fellow-men your heart real- 
ized its own desires to be eternal. 
The eternal and divine wish — the 
everlasting affection (indestructible 
as the essence of our being), from 
which there can be no escape 
save through that pseudo-possible 
channel — annihilation. For lonor 
your heart whispered a gospel to 
itself, and this gospel was the only 
ameliorating antidote to your sense 
of shame. He who has once looked 
into the loving mystery of his own 
soul, has gained the key to all 
hearts, to all love, to all passion. 

There is a leading in these 
things and the spirit is quickened. 
Love only is the unconquerable 
master. Precept may establish a 
code of righteousness ; morality 
may cover the human face with a 



88 FRO-M WITHINT 

mask of holy living, but only Immor- 
tal Love and its attributes of aban- 
donment and abnegation can make 
life true living, and lead to the 
truest consciousness of self-respect. 

Men may seek throughout all 
Christendom for the Voice of God, 
the human ear can alone hear it in 
the cry of the human heart. 

The soul will have its luay. 

Turn as we will from the pas- 
sions of flesh, the flesh and life 
thrust upon us their demands and 
will not be gainsaid, for there is but 
one world of action wherein the 
spirit cllngeth to Its own righteous 
observance — it is the world of the 
spirit's nativity. 

In the eyes of men my desires 
and my acts may seem dissolute — 
even base, but my being recognizes 
for itself the sum total of its purity. 



FRIENDS 89 

If in its cry to heaven for help it 
finds responsive succor in the voice, 
the touch, the mao-netism of a 
human soul, must man needs rob it 
of what seemeth unto itself good ? 
It is because the soul takes life 
and restores life that we have 
friends. But he is not my friend 
whom I lightly pass in the street 
with a conventional salutation, or 
who eateth at my table and thanks 
me for the courtesy of hospitality, 
or who favors me to-day and 
to-morrow wearies, or who smiles 
as we converse yet holds his thought 
from me, fearful that I may know 
him as he is, perhaps judge, con- 
demn. He is not my friend in 
whose presence I am afraid, though 
he walk, and sleep by my side— for 
in friendship there can be no fear^ 
neither sin, nor anv fault. 'Tis a 



90 FROM WITHIN 

land where glimpses of Paradise 
are ours ; where baser metal is trans- 
formed from lust to love. 

There is a union of soul to soul 
unknown to the other life of sex, 
unknown to any judgment, to any 
other life, to any mortal sense of 
law. 

Innermost lies the circle of 
another existence — hidden from the 
world of sio^ht and sound ; wherein 
some few are drawn by the reflec- 
tion of our nature in its untram- 
meled innocence. 

These few will prove their fel- 
lowship proportionally with our 
magnanimity of appreciation. We 
love our friends as we love God, 
fully, loyally or with a mean spirit. 
Forgetting that we are lawfully 
made we fail to consider with ade- 
quate seriousness the divine ncccs- 



FRIENDS 91 

sity with which demands are made 
upon our affection. 

I would carry my friend within 
me as my eyes carry the sunhght. 
His person becomes a holy temple 
and it is mine house. I may touch 
it as a part of myself. His thoughts 
are mine, an attribute of my being 
capable of nourishing, comforting 
and sustaining the rest. 

I dare not escape from him 
because of spiritual and physical 
need. 

He is my friend who stands 
beside me in the open way ; who 
longs to meet the aspiration of me, 
seeking to bring me peace. 

He who forgets the doubt of 
appearances, and renders me unto 
himself just. He who finds my 
affection his necessity — to whom he 
may breathe his latest fault, con- 



FROM WITHIN 



fessing his troubled spirit. He is 
my friend who walketh, talketh, 
sineth, Hveth, dieth with me because 
the love which passeth the love of 
women brings into life the hidden 
God in each. He who by my side 
seeketh the heart of a forest, under 
the sincrino- shade, there to lie down 
in that communion where the world 
may not enter in. 

He who with me sees a life 
eternal in the flower and fruit of 
an earthly Eden. He who lieth 
by my side in the tranquil night, 
silently dreaming of what together 
we may desire and attain — of ambi- 
tion and position in the world of 
men. He who ere the morning 
breaks kisseth me with the crown- 
ing kiss of supreme good-will — 
sympathetic, incomparably sincere 
— bringing the happiness and love 



FRIENDS 93 

of fellowship ; the blissful attraction 
of friend to friend, urging him to seek 
his God by my side, finding in me a 
highway. And I have known such. 

Falsity in friendship ! There 
is none, though my friend hides, a 
fugitive of the law^, under my pro- 
tection. He who deceiveth himself 
deceiveth me. 

''Lcs Jionnnes ne sont Justes 
qit envers ceiix qiiils aiment!' 

The law^ subtle and compre- 
hensive, may not be hidden. Its 
outcome, the assmnption of friend- 
ship always, whether we believe the 
newcomer a worthy candidate for 
our affection or not. 

Our natural existence has 
growni too selfish and carnal ; life 
strives to free itself from nature's 
enthrallment, consequently the soul 
struggles in an unrecognized phi- 



94 FROM WITHIN 

losophy — emotional, magnanimous, 
yet failing absolutely to allow us 
that spontaneity in dealing with each 
other necessary to the establishing 
of social law. Our instincts confer 
upon our acts the assurance of 
veracity. 

In breathing forth the lovable 
spirit let us claim the objective 
friend where the spirit falls — as did 
the love of David for Jonathan, 
Damon for Pythias, Nisus for Eury- 
alus, Achillis for Patroclos, and that 
of Socrates for xAlcibiades. 

Therein dwelleth the love that 
loveth " as one's own soul," and 
externalizes in all impulsive deeds 
of kindness as well as in the thrilline 
pleasures of sense and mind. 

When one heart longeth for 
another the world is overcome, and 
man becomes a neophyte to the 



FRIENDS 95 



reeulation of his true nature ; pre- 
scient visions delectable, august. 

He is awake, his soul may- 
seek and recognize its God. The 
magnetic currents of the whole 
organism develop a new expres- 
sion. Friendship and love, platonic 
in essence, heroic in meaning put 
forth in the physical some moral act 
— the leeitimate redolence of a 
divine germ planted in life. 

The ethics of social culture 
have done litde to enlighten us. 
We '* thinketh no evil " when growth 
alone brings the understanding 
thereof, and we mark how little is 
the span of human thought 'twixt 
heaven and earth. 

I will not fear the man I love, 
thouo-h he be false in sentiment 
and purpose, even if he robs my 
purse, slings arrows at my reputa- 



96 FROM WITHIN 

tion when my face is turned, caress- 
ing me with a Judas kiss, using me 
for his own ends and knowing no 
sympathy for the yearnings of my 
better self — for what I have, is his, 
what I am, encompasseth him, my 
love is greater than his hate, my 
gain but marks the inconceivability 
of his loss. 

His eyes may hesitate in shame 
to meet my own, yet do I see him 
as he knoweth not himself; he will 
one day yearn for just that which I 
have given, restore to me all he in 
selfishness dared to keep, and hear 
with the inner ear each unkind word 
spoken by his once deceitful tongue. 
If I love him I am his master, he 
my slave. And why? 'Tis the one 
embrace has tauo-ht me his intrinsic 
worth, and his heart responding, 
but soucrht in me his latest need. 



FRIENDS 97 

Thus must I ever thank heaven 
for my friends, they representing 
to the consciousness of all my parts 
why the starlit sky is to the earth 
a winning presence, why the song 
of birds at night steals tranquilly 
over the bosom of the forest. 

That love which creepeth un- 
seen into every bosom^ into the 
home, by the fireside; on the battle- 
field, where fidelity to comrades 
outshines the love and glory of 
country ; when ever association 
claims divinity, even where the 
pathway leads grave-ward, there 
may I lie down at rest sustained by 
that deified symbol of a Divine 
Friendship which tires not, and no 
more passeth away forever. 



VII 

Ode to Walt Whitman 

Now hail to thee, Walt Whitman ! poet, friend, 

Whose voice would lift thy fellows from the blown, 
Dead ashes of the Rose to stars, which tend 

Toward thoughts in recompense and holy ; flown 
From out the spirit which the Heavens do lend. 

Thou monarch true, in realms where God ordains. 
Thy vision vast, thy purest thoughts do dream 

The thousand loves man from his God retains. 
And Freedom (in one God) may come in gleams 

To him who listens as thy muse proclaims. 

So of that Rose, its bleeding petal lies 

Strewn on the grass, to wither into dust ; 
For where love is there lurks Death 'neath the skies. 

And we decry in tears the moth, the rust, 
Forgetful of the joys thy muse replies. 

Oh ! poet, friend, through thee the Hope is given 
That all we know of slaveship, chaos, sin, 

Will vanish into nothingness, deep riv'n. 
When men the freer life of love begin. 

And man stands, through the Law of Life, forgiv'n, 



VIII 
To Omar 

I'd learn of thee, sweet Omar, in the glade 

Of summer's eve, when shines thy Native Star, 

To worship at that shrine which beams afar, 

And hearken to that Voice : " Be 7iot afraid I " 

For sweet the breath of Heav'n steals 'neath the shade, 

Where not a voice of earth the peace doth mar, 

All pain burns out; my soul forgets its scar; 

Aspires to God, Who never man betrayed. 

While from the Orient breathes the whispered Past, 

O'er urns of death and graves of human mould. 

And ages of dead thoughts grown sere and cold — 

Thou whisperest still to man: ''Our souls shall last! 

In One Embrace the Day and Night enfold, 

All life and love become a city vast, 

'Tho blind, we see its hills and towers of gold. 

Thus hath thy Spirit lent the ages peace. 

No night can hide, no garish day destroy. 

Nor fear, nor hate impregnate their alloy. 

A little while the sorrow shall surcease. 

Till on our tomb Spring's fairest blossoms fall, 

As doth thy Spirit on our spirit's pall. 



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